


Never The Same

by silver9mm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, F/M, Honey, Megstiel - Freeform, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bees are swarming around them, crawling and tickling and buzzing in her hair and on her thighs where she has slid one syrupy hand between her own legs. Her mouth foams and feels a little numb from the honey, and she moves in a daze that is broken only when Cas shifts suddenly, jerking away from her, and she can’t help a little disappointed groan, thinking her naughty game is over and that he’ll disappear from under her and she’ll have to go find him, hanging upside down from a tree or sitting on the roof again, and she’ll have to coax him down with bananas and a promise to be good, whatever the fuck that means—</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never The Same

**Author's Note:**

> That time when Meg was taking care of Cas, and he was watching the bees, and she was a little bit good and Cas was a little bit bad?  
> Title from [Never the Same by Supreme Beings of Leisure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRtDilPtAMA)  
> [Soundtrack](https://8tracks.com/silver9mm/all-of-that-thorny-pain)

_Up against the pink and purple wisteria_  
_You said, hey, nature boy, are you looking at me_  
_With some unrighteous intention?_  
_My knees went weak,_  
_I couldn't speak, I was having thoughts_  
_That were not in my best interests to mention  
_

__

_And she moves among the flowers_  
_And she floats upon the smoke_  
_She moves among the shadows_  
_She moves me with just one little look_  
  
-Nick Cave

 

She’s taken to floating in the stream at the edge of the field. The water is so cold it almost burns and she loves the weirdness of that. It was warm where she lived, when she lived, centuries ago, but centuries more of Hell have given her fiery frostbite everywhere. Drinking whisky reminds her of it, the warmth and the numbness, but this is more pleasant. The sun is blinding through her closed eyelids, and the water is murmuring in her ears, so she doesn’t know the bee is there until it lands on her breast and stings her.

_Little bitch._

Meg rolls and takes the struggling, dying thing under the water. The sting doesn’t really hurt, not like she’s been hurt before. What she does feels, what she ties not to notice, is a giddy twist in her stomach knowing that he must be near. She’d left him asleep, like he’d been for almost three days now after Dean had sent him packing back with a quickness. Dean had admonished him, he'd told her, sulking. Something about clothes and no bees next time and his feelings were hurt so he’d gone to sleep, but apparently he’d roused and ventured out. She wonders if he’d panicked when she wasn’t there, like he used to.

She finds him by the arbour, laying in the sun, naked, flawless and lithe, his tanned skin turning pink, and she sprinkles cold water from her hair over him. Castiel gasps and opens his eyes, and the sky is in them.

Her body can heal, the bee sting is already gone, but the scars remain, what passes for her soul carrying them over from body to body. She likes them anyway, and Cas looks at her now for the first time in bright light, just a little astonished at the amount rippling her skin. Alastair’s are the worst. Even worse than her father’s.

“Where’s your honey, honey?” she asks, knowing he has some somewhere, compulsive about gathering it.

His eyes never leave her, but he lifts one hand and motions to the pile of his discarded clothes. In the pocket of his dirty trench coat is a baggie of the golden goo. Meg nips at the corner of it, ignoring Cas’ frown, his only protest. For some reason, he often trusts that she knows what she is doing; it had helped a lot in the first days of her caring for him, when he’d come around out of the coma healing Sam had knocked him into.

She squeezes the bag gently and the honey drizzles down onto his body, warm from the sun and her hands. He frowns again and she laughs.

“Fear not, bay _-bee_ , I’m not wasting it.”

She kneels down, wondering for the both of them just what in the hell she is doing.

“Nothing is wasted on you,” she says, her teeth clenched around the words.

She traces a finger through the spilled nectar, drawing it out of the pool on his sternum and painting along his ribs with it, rubbing it into the dark trail of hair along his belly, letting it drip off her nail into his belly button and smiling absently at how happy such a silly thing makes her. She blinks at that. _Happy_?

There is a bee crawling towards Cas’ ear and she reaches for it slowly, knowing it will buzz away, but now there are strands of honey on his neck, and not wanting to be alone in her confusion, she leans over him and swipes her tongue through it. He takes in a long, slow, loud breath and turns quickly, his lips brushing her cheek. She wrinkles her nose at him.

The bees are so thick they’re almost casting a shadow over them, but it’s his tongue running over his bottom lip that makes her shiver.

She pushes herself backwards, scooting away from his face— _fucking beautiful, ugh—_ and, hiding in her hair, hiding her blush, she empties the bag unceremoniously over his groin. His cock jumps at the sensation and she sees his skin pebble and the bees hum loudly around her head. She ducks them and laps at Cas, at his thick, straight cock, gathering a mouthful of honey before slipping her lips around him. She moves slowly at first, not bothering to swallow, letting the honey drool out the corners of her mouth and over him, over her fingers when she curls them around his cock, stroking him and splaying them through the curly black hair at its base, coating him.

The bees are swarming around them, crawling and tickling and buzzing in her hair and on her thighs where she has slid one syrupy hand between her own legs. Her mouth foams and feels a little numb from the honey, and she moves in a daze that is broken only when Cas shifts suddenly, jerking away from her, and she can’t help a little disappointed groan, thinking her naughty game is over and that he’ll disappear from under her and she’ll have to go find him, hanging upside down from a tree or sitting on the roof again, and she’ll have to coax him down with bananas and a promise to be good, whatever the fuck that means—but his hands are on the back of her neck and he is drawing her close again, on his knees now, and he bends over her, holding her and thrusting back into her mouth.

Meg closes her eyes— _it feels so good—_ and opens them when he moans and then they begin to water when he moves quickly. She rolls her weeping eyes up to look at him. He is the blue sky embodied, and he is the sun with a halo of bees crowning him. Her eyes shut again when he pushes as far back into her throat as he can, and then he is the night, the stars streaks of silver she finds in his hair when she gently plucks the bees from it before letting him inside at night.

She pulls away from him, pushing with sticky hands at his hips, shaking off his grip on her neck, having to almost fight him, and she smiles at that, is still smiling when he growls and wrestles her around, forcing her forward, when he clamps his mouth between her spread legs, her ass high, her back arched and her thighs sticky with honey. Her hair tangles in pink wisteria the same colour as her cheeks when she cranes her neck to look behind her as his tongue abandons her clit to dip into her pussy and then trails higher, and Castiel’s thumbs spread her open and his hot, rough tongue finds her furled hole. Her knees and fingers dig into the soft, wet earth and she can feels the bees gathering on her lips, on her face and between her legs, hanging heavy and vibrating.

That she is talking she doesn’t realise; encouraging him in whispers at first, but her words turn into demands, and then into begging as his tongue probes deeply into her, his fingers following, and the bees are dancing on her skin, furry and soft and maddening.

“Fuck me,” she whimpers, and Cas obeys, and she thinks if his sanctity wasn’t wrecked before now, this might do it.

She guides him into her, letting him push hard where his tongue and fingers had been, wanting the pain to remind her what she is because that has been slipping away more and more of late and she wants to think it is important to remember. She knows what this reminds him of, too, and it doesn’t bother her that he might think of Dean. Sometimes she does, too. She remembers. The honey and Cas’ saliva mix the way Dean’s blood and tears had, and the heat of their bodies makes it run, and she lets Cas push her down, her breasts in the dirt, her arms twined up, reaching, around his neck, the bees twitching faster as his control over them becomes erratic, and when some win past her soaked hair and begin dancing over her open, aching cunt, she wonders what it would feel like if they were to find their way inside her, a handful of them, if Cas could still control them then, if they would bite and sting her, and that thought mixed with the so wonderfully dirty pleasure and pain of Cas’ honeyed cock grinding circles in her ass makes her come.

Pinned beneath the rutting angel she knows _she_ is undone.


End file.
